What Sam Knows
by kelhome
Summary: Complete.  Post Season Five.  What Sam, Dean and Castiel all know, finally leads the Winchesters to the same place, at the same time.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester knows a lot. In fact, mostly against his will, he's learned things that most people will never even know they _need _to know. He knows the usefulness of obscure plants and herbs. Knows how to draw sigils and symbols that attract or repel the entities that lurk below the surface of every day life. If there was a Banshee, Ifrit or Gana, he could kill it, trap it, banish it, or what have you. Sam had a good memory, and once he learned something, he never forgot it.

All that knowledge was useless, however, when it came to what he really needed to know. Because what Sam needed to know was how his big brother was doing. _What _was he doing? How was his life going _out there, _andwithout Sam?

So, yeah. He couldn't find any of that stuff out in ancient texts or on obscure websites. He couldn't call Bobby or Rufus, or any other hunters for intel. Dean wasn't lo-jacked or bugged or under video surveillance. For this information, he needed to do good, old-fashioned leg work. Covert, unseen, and completely-under-the-radar _stalking_, was really what was called for. And, once he got started, Sam kind of got hooked on knowing all the little details that made up Dean's new life.

For instance, Dean went to work every morning around 7:30. He was working construction, making $24.70 per hour, and driving a dark green Ford pickup. He did the soccer pick up on Thursdays (and, if Sam happened to drift into Cicero more often on Thursdays, well, he was a covert stalker, and no had had to be the wiser.) He'd hacked into the high school's computer system and now read the morning announcements every day. Ben's soccer team had a 2-3 record so far this season, and Ben had also raised $46.00 (3rd place) for the basketball uniforms in the big car wash last weekend. Lisa now taught yoga at the community center on Tuesday and Saturday nights, otherwise working at the bank on Harrison Street. She and Dean had gone to Vegas two months ago for a long weekend. (Following the credit card records was easy once Sam learned that Dean was using the name Hector Frampton…a fact obtained when he may or may not have gone through the trash.) Sam figured, if he was going to be a stalker, he was going to be a _good _stalker.

Sam let himself do all this, didn't talk himself out of it, didn't question why he needed all these details of Dean's life. He just knew that, knowing these things soothed him, somehow.

The thing was, there were times that Sam actually, just, really missed the _fuck _out of Dean. On those nights when his head was filled with images and echoes from hell, and he was alone and spinning, he kind of _ached _to have Dean next to him.

Still, he wanted his brother to be free more than he needed to have Dean come hold his hand. Even if Sam screwed everything else up, he was not going to go crying to Dean and wreck the life he had finally made for himself. Dean had a family, now. A real family, not a drill sergeant , father and a rebellious, touched-by-a-demon brother. Lisa seemed good for him. When Sam watched them through his high-powered binoculars she was almost always smiling. And, she directed most of those smiles right at Dean.

And Dean was taking to it. Those first few months, Sam had watched and even from a distance he would see how grim Dean felt. He was pretty good at hiding it, but Sam knew him too well to buy his too-ready smiles and hearty, hollow laughter. The events at Stull Cemetery, hell, the whole past few years, had been hard on Dean. Sam understood that. But, now, almost a year later, Dean's smiles came easier, and more often.

So, he didn't call him. He didn't knock on Dean's door. But, he did drive down to Cicero every so often and skulk around the edges of Dean's life until the need to talk to Dean, to just be next to him and feel everything that meant, passed.

Sam was a good ghost. He knew how to stay out of sight. No one ever spotted him. There was a hospital across from Dean's construction job. It hadn't been difficult to sneak in, climb up to the roof and find a perch that was hidden by the air compressors and vent outlets. He'd watch, eat a couple of sandwiches, sip a soda, and everything in him that was disconnected and shaky would settle. He'd watch Dean with a blow torch or a compression hammer, or whatever the hell else he used while he worked, and he'd just feel connected. Dean would joke with the guys he worked with, smile and laugh and work hard.

He was the same with Lisa and Ben, even with the neighbors Sam would see him wave at when he got home from work. Dean had a way with people, a way of making connections with people, that seemed so effortless and natural. Everyone that Dean let in, liked him. It's just that, for most of his life, it hadn't been safe or practical to let anyone in. Now, he was free to drop some of his walls, and let other people see the parts of him that weren't all about killing demons and protecting wayward little brothers.

Sam was proud of him, actually. Dean had gone from a soldier battling life and death and destiny to a guy joining a community, driving carpool and having cook outs. And, as with everything Dean did, he did it with a level of competency and confidence that thoroughly impressed Sam.

Sam might have left it at that, seeing Dean rejoin life and being successful at it. As far as Sam was concerned, he'd learned what he'd set out to know and he could have left Dean in peace. But, just when Sam was ready to say 'So long, have a good life,' the family across the street from Dean and Lisa's house had moved out. Their house was empty and _right there._ Sam couldn't resist. He kind of used it as his base when he was Cicero. He'd come in at night, sack out on the floor, and watch the little house across the street through the floor to ceiling venetian blinds. He could follow Dean's life whenever he wanted without him being the wiser.

He didn't know if he should be ashamed or not. But, he still did it. He watched as Dean, Lisa and Ben went in and out. He watched them tease each other, laughing as they unloaded groceries or carried a cooler and folding chairs to catch a soccer game. Friday nights, Ben usually had friends over and Sam could see Dean and Lisa in the kitchen making homemade pizzas for the hungry teens. Sam just smiled, adjusted his sleeping bag and felt sleep come easier than anywhere else.

Today, Sam had come down to Cicero because his last hunt had left him kind of hollow.

Before last week, what Sam knew of a Kobold was this: they were supposed to be good luck sprites. They lived in houses and teased and entertained the owners if they liked them. Sam had never heard of one going rogue, becoming angry and murderous. But, this one had. It had not taken to the family that had recently moved in to its house: Mom, Dad, five-year-old Seth and eight year-old Ethan. Sam had gotten wind of the case because the five year-old had been killed. He'd been tossed down the steps once, and when he'd landed, miraculously alive, the Kobold had flung him back _up_ the stairs, spun him around, and thrown him right back down again. The second trip had snapped his neck. The coroner's report had caught his eye both because the boy had been tossed _up _the stairs before going down again, and because the mother swore she'd heard laughing and smelled evergreens when she'd watched it all happen. Cops had put it all down to hysteria. But, Sam had remembered hearing that Kobolds always laughed when they manifested, and that they brought some of the forest with them.

Two days ago, Sam had gone to the house intending to take a look around. He'd picked the back door lock, and seen both parents laid out in the foyer, still breathing but unconscious. He'd heard the giggling, run up the stairs just in time to see the Kobold about to toss the eight year-old to the same fate as his brother. Sam had wasted no time ramming the iron stake into the grinning thing's chest. When the spirit dissipated, Sam had gone over to the boy, wanting to reassure him that the evil spirit was really gone, and that his parents were alive and breathing.

The boy, Ethan, had looked up at him, not crying or shaking or anything. He'd just stood there, watching Sam with these big, incredibly sad eyes. He just stared at Sam, eyes pleading for something…And, it hit Sam. The kid wasn't relieved or thankful. He was disappointed that Sam had stopped the Kobold. He'd softly sighed, whispered, "I wish you could have waited…"

Sam put his hand on the boy's shoulder while he called 911, reported a break in, told the operator the family was hurt but alive. He knew he had about 4 minutes to help this boy make sense of the mess his life had become before the cops came. Sam sat down in front of the kid, put his hands on the little fragile shoulders, looked him right in the eyes. He spoke gently but firmly. "Listen to me. I know you've been through something unspeakably awful. You miss your brother, and you don't understand why anything would want to hurt him. Maybe you're wishing it had come for you instead. But, believe me when I tell you there is _nothing _you could have done to stop it. That thing was evil, and it went for the weakest victim. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing your mom or dad or brother could have done. Do you hear me? It was just, your family was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, you know? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but it wasn't anybody's fault. It wasn't _your_ fault."

The big eyes blinked, tears started to form. Ethan's voice was soft, wrecked. "I should have helped him. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there. And, now, Seth is gone." He leaned his forehead forward until it touched Sam's.

Sam ran one of his hands down the small, bony little back. "I know it hurts. I know you loved him and would've done anything to save him. But, sometimes, there's nothing we can do. Sometimes, we just have to accept that a bad thing happened, and go on, you know?" Sam didn't really know what he was doing, but he kept trying. He heard the faint sound of sirens. _"_Your mom and dad are going to need you, okay? Your brother wouldn't want you to be sad, or to follow him. Trust me. I'm a little brother, too. And I would never want my big brother to get hurt, or to be sad because I was gone. I think your brother would want you to stay here with your mom and dad. Find a way to have a good life. I think that would make him happy."

The kid was crying silently. He nodded and heaved a tired sigh. Sam pulled back, knew he had to get out of here. "Ethan, you can still love your brother, okay?" Sam tapped the little chest with his index finger. "You'll always have him right here."

The boy looked up at him, his eyes serious and measuring. He stepped back, too. Nodded again, wiped his nose.

The sirens were closer. Sam stood up. "You can tell them whatever you want, whatever you think happened, okay? Just, if you can, kind of forget what I look like, alright?"

The kid softly answered, "Okay."

Sam had taken off and headed straight for Cicero.

He knew that today, soccer practice started at 4:00. The team had a big game on Saturday. Their division rivals from someplace called Walt Whitman High. It sounded pretentious. Sam hoped Cicero kicked their asses. He drove over to the field, parked on the other side of the woods, walked in. He could watch from the trees and shrubs that surrounded the field. There was a nice spot under some hydrangea bushes that still had purple and pink blooms on them. He could sit pretty comfortably and watch through the binoculars while staying completely hidden.

Ben was playing with a little more confidence now that the season was underway. The kid wasn't very fast, but he seemed like a team player, passed the ball as much as he dribbled it, and the other kids seemed to like him. Sometimes Lisa would pick him up, but, today was Thursday, so it would be Dean.

Sure enough, after about a half hour of play, Dean's truck pulled into the parking lot. Sam trained his lenses on Dean and he absorbed every detail he could. Dean looked good, healthy. He'd put on a few pounds, was peeled down to just a t-shirt, and looked sweaty but happy as he walked over to the bleachers and sat down. He put his elbows on his knees and followed the play on the field intently.

Sam remembered Dean watching him play soccer when he'd been in middle school. They'd stayed in some small town in Indiana long enough for Sam to join a team. He had taken it for granted then. Looking up and seeing Dean sitting there the same way he was now, always in the same spot, always a little away from the other spectators. Dean had been old enough to drive, rangy and distant as far as the other kids were concerned. He'd sit in the stands, elbows on his knees, grubby from whatever summer job he was holding down, and watch with that focus he'd always had about anything important to him. Even Sam's stupid soccer practices. Sam would look up, see him sitting there, and just be happy. Happy that Dean was there, but also really stoked about the fact that could just be normal brothers for as long as Sam was running up and down the field. No monsters, no weapons, no training. Just, a big grassy field and a little ball to kick around. Dean had come to all the games, too. Dad hadn't made it to many. Maybe two over the course of the two years Sam had tried to play on organized teams. But, Dean had always been there. He remembered, even as a self-absorbed adolescent, appreciating that Dean took the time to give a crap about the whole thing.

Dean had a way of sneaking up on things like that. He wouldn't really ask much about it, but, he'd show up, take everything in. When Sam went three games without coming close to scoring, he'd thrown his cleats at the car and said he didn't know why he _sucked so hard at this fucking game_. Dean had shrugged as he checked the paint job, made sure Sam's hissy fit hadn't scratched the car. Then, he'd looked Sam right in the eye. "You hang back like you're waiting for those guys to give you permission. Just, go, Sam. Take the ball, outpace those slow-assed midgets and get it done."

In those years, Sam had listened to everything Dean said and taken it as gospel. So, he'd considered. Thought it was pretty good advice, and scored in the next six games, sometimes twice.

He should have remembered that these last couple of years. How Dean knew him, how he watched everything that related to Sam, and how he always had good advice. Instead, Sam had ignored all Dean's warnings, about Ruby and the powers and the demon blood and all of it. _Should have just kept it simple and listened to Dean. _For whatever problems they'd had between them, from Dean's perspective, he'd always had Sam's best interests at heart.

And, so, Sam was willing to pay the price of his exile. Because, he'd made enough mistakes to earn his place here, hiding in the damn bushes of a high school soccer field. And, Dean? He had earned his place in the sun.

Sam watched a little longer, until practice broke up and the kids started to match up with their waiting parents. Dean walked over to Ben, talked to him for a minute, gestured with his arms, then mimed a kick. _Probably giving Ben some damn good advice._ Sam hoped Ben was smart enough to listen.

Tonight, Dean would go home to Lisa and they would have dinner then go grocery shopping, get all the ingredients for the pizza they would make tomorrow night for Ben and his friends.

Tomorrow, Sam would take off for Arizona and an Acheri that seemed to be giving campers trouble. Because Sam knew how to take care of an Acheri. And, Dean knew how to make a life, without Sam, here in Cicero.

The End


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester knows a lot of things. He knows that Ben tends to lag in the morning unless Dean wakes him 10 minutes early. He knows Lisa likes Earl Grey tea with a drizzle of honey before she takes a shower and gets ready for the day. He knows more about construction than he ever did. Pressure hammers, cordless drills and drywall clamps are all familiar to him now.

He knows all that, and it gives him a focus and a purpose.

But, what he really wants to know, what freakin' tortures him and keeps him from sleeping, is what is happening with Sam? What does it mean to be Lucifer's agent of demise in hell? Is he enduring the same ripping and tearing and _breaking_ that Dean did? Or, is he in a whole different world of pain and agony because he was the one who brought Lucifer back to the pit?

There's no way to get any answers, of course. Dean's tried. He's been to libraries and websites. He's had Bobby read and call and pester other hunters. He's called Castiel, who hasn't answered, the little ungrateful shit. And, so. Dean is left alone with his wondering.

Yeah, he knows there is no point. He knows there's no way to find out what he wants to know. He even knows that Sam _wanted_ him to move on. Even begged. "Dean, please, promise me!" But, when you've looked after someone since you were four, it's tough to just turn it off, say, 'Oh, well, that's the way the cooking crumbles,' and let it go.

In desperation, he actually tried to summon Sam. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he'd tried a psychic. He and Lisa had been in Vegas a couple of months back. Lisa had gone to have her nails done, or somesuch girly activity, so Dean had walked the strip. He'd seen a glass door that just said 'Psychic' in gold letters. Checking over his shoulder, like someone would have noticed or cared, Dean had ducked in.

The room was small, dark, red lightbulbs, flickering candles. It was so staged and cheesy that he'd almost left. But, then, an older woman, dressed in black pants and swirly blouse had come in. He had been prepared to raise an eyebrow and be gently condescending as he asked her to contact his brother. But, her eyes had lazered into his and stayed quiet. She'd studied him. After a long moment, while he stood frozen by her intense gaze, she'd smiled, tilted her head, gestured him to come closer.

He'd been proud of himself, that he hadn't backed up or flinched. When he was close enough, she'd stepped in, put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her eyes had gone from intensely focused and calm, to crestfallen and sad. She inhaled a slow breath, and Dean was dismayed to see tears fill her eyes. Finally, she'd let go of his shoulder, stepped back. Her eyes had cleared, and she'd beckoned him to the small table for two in the middle of the room. "Please, sit."

Her voice was low and soothing, and Dean had sat down across from her.

She closed her eyes, took in and released two long, slow breaths. Finally, she looked up at him, "You have a question. Ask."

Dean had thought he would have to go into some sort of bullshit explanation, that he'd lost his brother in the war, that he just wanted to see how he was doing on the 'other side,' or something of that sort. Instead, he gazed into her clear eyes, simply said, "Can I talk to him?"

She put her hand lightly on his wrist. Waited a moment. "Your brother?"

Dean nodded.

The woman nodded in return. "We will call him. His name?"

It had been so long since he'd said it aloud, that Dean had to speak past a sudden lump in his throat. "Sam. His name is Sam."

She nodded, closed her eyes, withdrew her hand. She didn't speak, just sat quiet and still. Dean had thought there'd be a bit more theatrics, to be honest. But, no smoke or flickering lights. Just the breathing and the waiting. He thought about what he wanted to say to Sam, if, by some unbelievable long shot, he showed up. _I'm sorry? I wish there'd been some other way? I'm so proud of you? _What do you say to your brother, your best friend, if you get one minute of time to last the rest of your life? _Is it beyond enduring, what's happening to you? Are you still _Sam_, inside all the suffering? Is there any way for me to get you out? Is there anything I can do to make it better?_

_I really fuckin' miss you._

And, suddenly, he wanted it so badly it hurt. To talk to Sam. To have even a moment to connect with him. For a fraction of time to feel Sam with him. He had Lisa and Ben, and they were great. They really were. But, he felt so damn _alone._ When Sam had fallen into that gaping pit, he'd left a similar hole in the center of Dean's chest. It was just _there. _All the time. Dean could cover it up, get busy, chat up the neighbors or the guys at work, but, still. He could feel this hollowness, just along the edges of everything he did. And, if he could just be with Sam for a moment, maybe that would help. Maybe.

Then again, maybe it would make it all that much more unbearable, to have him for a second, and then lose him again. Dean didn't know anymore. He just wanted...well, he wanted to see his brother.

The longer the woman had stayed silent, her eyes closed, her breathing calm, the faster Dean's heart had pumped. _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..._

After what felt like a long, suspended time of waiting, she'd opened her eyes. "He's not coming."

"What!" _Leave it to Sam, to make this difficult_. "Well, keep trying."

She smiled a sad, pitying smile. "No, I mean, there's no trail of light for him. There's nothing for me or the guides to follow."

Dean, who'd begun this with a healthy dose of embarrassment and skepticism, was now fully invested in somehow talking to Sam. "So, look harder. Talk to other guides. Cause, believe me, lady, he ain't topside."

She'd tilted her head and given him another long, considering gaze. "You believe he isn't in the light?"

Dean gave a cold smile. "He's as far from the light as it's possible to get."

Her brow furrowed and she looked confused. "But, from the impressions on your psyche, I read him as a good, strong soul. Even, a noble soul. Why would you think he's consigned to the darkness?"

Dean sighed, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of this whole situation. He wasn't going to see Sam. Not this night, not ever. Why he had let himself think differently, well, it was a momentary lapse into fantasy land. He'd sighed, rubbed his tired, stinging eyes. "Never mind. Just, this was stupid. Sorry I wasted your time. How much do I owe you?"

She continued to look at him. Then, she nodded. "I will ask the guides of the dark. If he lives below, they will find him."

Back to the waiting, while her eyes closed and she breathed deeply. But, by now, Dean had let go of the asinine hope that Sam would somehow magically appear and reassure him that all was well. As if. From hell. _Right, Dean. You're a goddamned idiot._

But, he didn't leave. He'd waited, just not with the anticipation of before. Because Dean knew that things just didn't work out like that for the Winchesters.

Sure enough, the woman opened her eyes, shook her head. "He is not in the underworld, either."

Dean nodded. "Right. He's just floating around in a black hole somewhere." He rolled his eyes. "But, thanks." He stood up, turned to go.

The woman at the table spoke quietly. "People are skeptical of my gifts. And, that's fine. I know what I have and what I'm capable of. And, I am telling you in all honesty, I have never failed to find a lost soul. Especially, as I can feel your loss was not that long ago. For whatever reason, your Sam is not on the other side."

Dean had wanted to punch her. He'd wanted to tear this little red-bulbed, scarf-bedecked sham of a business apart. How _dare _she? How dare this con artist tell him his brother didn't _exist._

Instead, he'd grit his teeth and stepped away. Went out the door and found an off-shoot alley to get a grip in. _Stupid. Sam is dead. Just, leave it. Every time you poke at it, it rears up to slam you again. _He had to find a way to leave it be. Had to. Or else, he'd just have to drive into a fucking tree and put himself out of his misery. Sam didn't want this from him, Dean knew. What had he said, that last drive they'd taken? "Hope Lisa is dumb enough to take you in and go live some apple pie life." _That's_ what Sam wanted from him.

So, Dean would stop trying to find him, or a way to get him out. Because that's what Sam told him to do. Even if Sam _had _come for a chat that night, that's what he would've told Dean. _Live. Be happy._

_Stupid bitch. _

But, it doesn't keep him from wanting to _know._

_Are you hanging on? Is Lucifer tearing at you all the time? Do you get any reprieve? Is it fiery and full of screaming or freezing and desolate? Do you know that I'm both furious and proud? That I'd trade places if I could? _

The questions come without his volition. They will always come, Dean thinks. But, they won't stop him from doing what Sam asked him to do.

He gets in the car to go pick up Ben from soccer practice. He notices the house across the street is still for sale as he drives past. He hopes any new neighbors have a kid for Ben to pal around with. Thinks he sees the blinds in the front room move. _Maybe someone is looking at the place, be good to have it full, not sitting empty. _

He fights to stay in the now. And, he will keep fighting. Because, Dean knows what his brother wants. And, so, he will keep living.

The End


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel knew a lot about how things worked in the kingdom of heaven. He understood its hierarchy, that some angels had precedence because of long experience or past service. Some angels had to be punished when their missions went awry and against God's wishes. He knew that the driving force for angels was doing God's will, whatever the cost. When the apocalypse was averted, in fact, he had returned to find he was extremely useful to God in the disaster that was heaven today. He'd been through the near apocalypse, and he'd dealt with both renegade and rebellious angels. He understood all sides, and could motivate lesser and greater angels alike. He had a knack for conveying the need for common purpose, for organization and discipline, without coming across, as Dean Winchester would say, 'like a dick.'

So, he knew all that, and he was satisfied to have a useful role to play after the sadness of being cut off from heaven.

But, he cannot forget his time on earth. He cannot _unknow_ that, when his angel brothers rejected him, Sam and Dean Winchester took him in as part of their family. They asked a lot from him, certainly, more than he thought he could give, at times. But, they gave him everything they had to give, as well. They may have been annoyed or frustrated with him, from time to time..._maybe. _But, they'd cared when he was upset or injured. They'd offered help when he needed it. They believed in him, gave him a purpose, when all of heaven had given up on him. To an angel, service, being useful, was all that mattered. The Winchesters had given him that, when he'd been at his lowest.

They'd also taught him something that most angels never felt or knew about. They taught him what it meant to _care, _about humans, about the destiny of mankind as a whole. More, they'd taught him how things really were between brothers. That, even when one or the other 'screwed up,' a brother was not to be abandoned. That brother was to be embraced. Perhaps knocked in the face with clenched knuckles, but, brought close none the less. Brothers were family, and family meant everything.

And, Castiel could not unlearn that.

So, even as he served as 'Sheriff' in heaven, he kept a watch on the Winchester brothers.

He saw when God peeled Sam from Lucifer in hell and released him back to earth.

He saw when Dean went to the woman's house and fell into the well of her caring.

He saw when Sam snuck away from the woman's house and headed out on the road. And when his need for Dean would pull him back to the town of Cicero, time and time again.

He saw when Dean stared up at the stars, alone and aching for the presence of his brother, wondering how he was going to go on.

The _wrongness _of the situation pulled at him. In Castiel's thinking, there was no need for them to be apart. No need for all the sadness and loneliness each was suffering. Still, he tried to leave them to their choices and not interfere. It was what angels were supposed to do. They did not interfere unless God called for it.

But, Castiel was connected to the Winchesters, and he could feel their distress. It was quite insistent and _bothersome_, actually. And, if he couldn't use his elevated status in heaven to keep watch on the Winchesters, well, what was the point in being 'head honcho,' after all?

Today, Castiel had watched while Sam had hidden in some low-growing plants, while the young boy in Dean's care had kicked a small ball around a grassy field. Something about the noble Sam Winchester, hiding in some shrubbery, hoping for a glimpse of his brother, had pushed Castiel past his patience.

He decided it was time to put heaven on hold and manifest on earth. Just to see if the pain of his human friends, his human _family_, could be eased.

By the time he stood next to Sam's hiding place, Castiel had seen Dean arrive to pick up the boy and drive him home. Castiel chose to stay unseen by other humans, but revealed himself to Sam. He cleared his throat, just to 'get the ball rolling.'

Sam jumped, glanced up at him while pulling his knife in the same motion. Castiel remained still. He just gazed at Sam. Sam's eyes went wide, he whispered, "Cas? What are you doing here, man?"

Castiel was going to correct him. He wasn't a 'man' after all, but, he had missed these references, these signs that the brothers considered him one of them. Castiel looked out at the field. "They've all gone. You don't need to stay in the bushes."

Sam 'hrumphed,' moved around, found his exit, and came to his feet. Castiel had forgotten how large Sam was. Heaven gave such a different perspective, after all. He looked up, and noticed multiple pink and purple petals decorating Sam's hair. Castiel thought it looked rather festive, but, didn't remark on it. Instead, he gazed at Sam, waited for him to speak. But, Sam just looked down at the ground, put his hands in his pockets, looked embarrassed and dejected at the same time. Castiel sighed. He had missed doing that – sighing. He could convey impatience or exasperation, even fondness or 'you're being a butt-head,' all with a downswell of breath. It was harder to convey those things in heaven, though he kept trying.

Sam looked at him, finally. "I know it's pathetic. I'm sorry if you felt you had to come all this way to tell me. I'm sure you've got much more important things to do." He scuffed his foot on the loose dirt, again. "Um, how are things going for you, now? Up there. They treating you okay?"

Castiel was reminded, also, why he'd developed such an uncharacteristic affection for these boys. "Sam, go to Dean. Tell him you're alive."

Sam shook his head, his shoulders drooped, and his eyes looked sad. "I can't. I'm not taking this from him, Cas. He's happy here. And, you know what he's like. He sees me, and it's right back to 'take care of Sammy,' duty. He'll drop all of this, and I'll feel like shit for taking it all away."

Castiel nodded. "But, you feel like shit, now."

Sam sighed, "Yeah, I know...but _he _doesn't...wait. Did you say 'shit?'"

"Yes."

Sam gave a soft laugh.

Castiel raised a brow. He returned to the subject at hand. "I don't need to tell you that your brother thinks you are suffering in hell. That is not making him happy. At all."

Sam looked out at the field. "Maybe. But, he'll get over that in time. He's already getting over that. Have you been watching? He has pizza parties – where _he_ makes the pizza. I mean, I've seen him do it, and it's still hard for me to believe. He goes to cook outs and jokes around at work with the guys. He's not moping and staring into the distance. He's okay."

Castiel shook his head, looked at Sam until Sam looked back at him. "You're an idiot."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What? I'm not an idiot! I'm doing this for Dean. I'm trying to let him live his life in peace."

"You're hiding from him. You're being cruel."

Sam looks away again. "You don't...Just, leave it alone, Cas. I'm sure you have bigger problems than this right now."

"You're right. I do. But, you don't. Sam, give Dean the respect of letting him make his own choices. Maybe he'll stay away from hunting, maybe he'll want to join you on the road. Maybe, he'll compromise and do both. But, you must let him know you are safe. It's haunting him and it never lets him rest. Not fully. Everything I know of you, and your love for your brother, tells me that you would not have him suffering needlessly. So, you must have a reason for wanting him to suffer?"

Sam's face has gone still and tight. Castiel can tell he's made Sam angry. He's surprisingly glad about that. He's learned that, with humans, when the emotions get stronger, the situation is closer to getting resolved, one way or another. Sam breathes deeply, trying to bring his temper under control. "I don't want him to suffer. Shut up. That's stupid."

Castiel tilted his head. "It _is_ stupid, isn't it? I'm glad we agree on that."

Sam huffs a breath in exasperation. He clears his throat, scuffs his toe in the dirt some more. Castiel waits. Finally, Sam says softly, "What do _you _think will happen if I tell Dean I'm back?"

Castiel looks at him steadily. "I think the large, gaping, sucking hole inside of him will finally close."

Sam actually takes a step back. "Wow. You don't pull your punches, huh?"

"Pull them? I thought one _pushed_ when punching?"

Sam nodded. "Whatever. Listen, are you sure you're right about this 'hole' business? Cause, to me, Dean looks _happy_. He looks rested and...just, happy. He hardly ever looked like that when he was around me."

_And, here we have it, _Castiel thought.

He moved to stand directly in front of Sam. "Sam, what you and your brother endured these past few years, it would have broken almost any other humans on your planet. The pain, the sadness and betrayal, all around you, all the time. It was unrelenting, unending. Your brother _was_ tired. He was weary and heartsick and confused and frightened. He was all of those things. But, so were you."

Sam opens his mouth to speak, and Castiel knows he's going to say something about how he deserved it, but Dean didn't. He does know Sam, after all. Castiel holds up his hand to stop the words. "It's important for you to recognize that the last few years should have broken you, both as brothers and as individuals. You should have been bargaining with the angels _and_ the demons to save yourselves, and 'screw the other guy.' It's what most humans would have done. But, instead, you and Dean stayed together. You fought together, suffered together, found a solution, _together._ And now, you're going to leave him alone? You're going to make all that sacrifice and fighting, all that loyalty and love, count for nothing? Does that seem fair to you?"

Sam nodded. Cas could feel emotions moving through his young friend. His eyes were moist, and his breathing was uneven. All good signs, as far as Castiel was concerned. Finally, Sam, got himself under control. He spoke quietly, but firmly. "No, I don't think it's fair. I don't think one damn thing about our lives was _fair._ I don't want Dean to _suffer._ Jesus. Of course I don't. But..." He looked directly at Castiel. His face wanted to crumple, but Sam held on, kept his resolve. "Cas, I just...I don't want to ruin his life. My coming back, it will do that. You see that, right?"

Castiel softened, despite himself. Of course, this was at the heart of it. Sam wasn't giving himself the comfort of his brother's presence, not because he didn't need Dean, but because he thought coming back would _ruin his life._ These boys would make a _stone_ feel for them. Castiel put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, if I guarantee you that it will _not _ruin his life, will you go to Dean?"

Sam's eyes flickered with his uncertainty. "How could you possibly guarantee something like that?"

Castiel thought of the many times Dean's sorrow and pain had pulled at him since he'd thought he'd lost Sam. He thought of the emptiness Dean struggled against, so Lisa and Ben wouldn't worry about him. He knew that Dean was suffering needlessly. Sam, himself, was suffering needlessly.

It had to stop.

He gave Sam one of rare smiles. A true smile, that, if he did say so himself, was quite dazzling.

Sam's eyes flickered with hope.

Castiel said, "It is an easy guarantee to give, Sam. Go to him. Give him what he most wants. After everything, give him back what he thinks is lost forever."

Sam closed his eyes, bowed his head, breathed for a few minutes. When he opened his eyes and raised his head, Castiel was not surprised at the quiet, "And you're sure it won't be a bad thing for him?"

Castiel stepped back. "I've told you I am. Stop stalling. Go."

Sam's brows went up. "What, now?"

Castiel was getting perturbed. "Yes, now."

Sam's grin came, slow and wonderful to behold. "So, like, right now?"

Castiel could see that Sam wanted this, but, more, he wanted to make sure it wasn't selfish, that it wouldn't do Dean more harm than good. As an answer, Castiel put two fingers to Sam's forehead and took him to Lisa's front yard.

When Sam opened his eyes, and saw where he was, his eyes went wide and disbelieving. But, Castiel could sense his excitement, as well. Sam rubbed his palms against the legs of his jeans. "So, just knock? I mean, what if it's a bad time?"

Castiel was confused. "Are you really this much of a pussy?"

Sam laughed out loud at that, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. "Okay. Okay, you're right." He took a step forward, then, turned back to thank Castiel. And was hit with a gust of air as he disappeared. Still, he whispered, "Thanks, Cas."

He walked up to Dean's front door, his heart pounding. Before he could knock, it opened.

And there was Dean. His face was white. His lip trembled and his eyes filled. And, finally, Sam was engulfed in his brother's embrace.

Castiel watched them as he faded from sight.

He knew the Winchesters, alright.

The End


End file.
